


but first, coffee

by Previously8



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Coffee, Developing Friendships, Gen, break room chats, sorta - Freeform, the literal kind, things are weird in the archive but at least there's tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 08:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19884859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Previously8/pseuds/Previously8
Summary: In another life, Martin probably would have been a barista.(Martin knows all of his coworker's coffee orders by heart, and Basira confronts him about office dynamics.)No explicit spoilers past s1, takes place sometime post ep 92.





	but first, coffee

**Author's Note:**

> so I had this idea where Martin is just really unusually good at remembering how to make people coffee or tea or whatever they want and also I wanted him to feel valued and loved because recent eps make me Very Worried About Martin
> 
> and this is what we came up with-- enjoy!

In another life, Martin probably would have been a barista. 

For as long as he can remember, Martin has always had an uncanny knack for remembering people’s drinks or getting them right on the first try without asking. Honestly, Martin doesn’t even know all that much about different drinks and such, can’t tell a macchiato from a cappuccino except that he likes one more than the other—but the amount of milk, or cream, or sugar, it all just makes sense. 

In this life, though, he (unfortunately) works as an archival assistant for the Magnus Institute and the only people that he makes drinks for are his begrudgingly thankful boss and coworkers. And that’s fine. He doesn’t expect anything for the drinks, and he doesn’t even expect people to notice that he always gets them right, either. He barely even thinks about it anymore; it’s just habit. Besides, it’s boring, getting things right. Expected, even. 

(People only tend to notice him at all, Martin thinks on his more melancholy days, when he gets something wrong.)

The small office kitchenette that they share with the people in artifact storage goes unnoticed as well, and usually stays empty. Martin, who seems to find the time to make drinks for everyone, is the only one who uses it except at lunch. Even then, though, people don’t stick around—the archives have lost their camaraderie since, well, _everything_. That’s why Martin finds himself so surprised when he’s interrupted in the process of pouring a coffee for Tim (no sugar, enough whole milk to make it a peanut-brown). 

“Why do you do that?”

“Shit!” Martin jumps, his heart beating wildly, and spills milk all over the counter and his hand. He never used to be this jumpy—hazard of the job, he supposes.

He turns to find Basira in the door to the small kitchen. She has her arms crossed, a book in one hand, and is staring at him with an expectant frown. Martin’s hand drips milk onto the counter and he stares back at her for a second, heart still thumping wildly at the unexpected intrusion, before he remembers that she had asked a question. 

“Do what?” He moves towards the sink to grab a tea towel. 

“Make tea and stuff for people,” Basira clarifies, and there’s something accusatory in her tone that Martin isn’t quite sure how to parse. She joins him at the counter, filling the kettle and turning it on with a small click. Martin moves a little away from her, toward the sink. 

“I’m not sure what you mean?” He says, though he thinks he might have an idea.

He’s so used to the office dynamic—to Tim’s camaraderie-turned-cold-shoulder, to Jon’s devotion-turned-blind-obsession—that he hadn’t considered what it might look like from the outside. Basira’s only been working—really working with them, not just conspiring, or dropping by—for a few weeks. 

It has to be strange for her, Martin realizes. He had certainly felt uncomfortable when he first got the job—and not just because he lied on his resume to get there, but because entering a new space with undefined rules is difficult when you don’t know where the lines are. Now that there were horrible Powers That Be dogging their every steps and forcing them together… well, intra-office tensions were definitely at an all time high. Entering into the thick of things, no matter how important the decision was at the time, was a hard thing to do. 

“You’re always the one making the coffee.” Basira says. She leans against the counter and studies him as he wipes down the counter under Tim’s full mug. The kettle shakes as it heats. “No one else ever comes in here, do they? You just bus around, bringing everyone coffee or tea or whatever they want.”

Martin shrugs uncomfortably. “I mean, I don’t mind it? It’s a nice break from things.” He realizes how that might sound and continues quickly, “not to say I hate the research-- it’s not really that bad until the monsters show up, I mean. I’m glad I have this job! Most of the time. But I like to move around during work and stuff, I guess? I’m not slacking off or anything.”

“No, it’s not that,” Basira says slowly. “But… you don’t feel like a servant, running around like this and fetching things?” She gestures vaguely with the book she’s holding.

Martin puts the cloth back by the sink and considers the question. The easy answer—no, he doesn’t feel like a servant, why would he?—isn’t necessarily going to appease her curiosity, nor is it entirely the thruth. And honestly, though he’s never thought of himself that way, there is a certain amount of expectation that comes with his willingness to be the designated tea-maker. His coworkers—well, they’d probably stumble blindly into the kitchenette, completely incapable of making drinks on their own without him. Even though Tim has changed a lot, he still accepts his coffee. Jon, too, says a simple “thank you, Martin”, every time, like an afterthought, but a warm one. It would be weird for Martin to stop making tea, now, change things in a way that might be irreparable.

Expectation or not, though, that’s not why he does it. Martin gets tea and coffee for people because he likes making people happy. It’s rewarding, in a sense. 

“I like… feeling appreciated, I guess,” he says, as Basira grabs a mug with a small white dog on it that used to be Annie-from-Artefact-Storage’s before her maternity leave. “It’s not servitude. I mean, I don’t get coffee for people because they _ask_ or because they _want_ it, I get it for them because I like to. And they thank me.” 

“Huh,” Basira says, dropping her teabag into the cup. “It’s kind of shitty that you need to get coffee for people for them to appreciate you.”

That’s definitely an accusation. Martin can feel himself bristle a little at the implication that he’s, what, desperate for positive feedback? or that the workplace has always been as shitty as it currently feels? He’s not here to fix all of the office relations-- he probably couldn’t if he tried—but it’s not his fault that Basira joined their little force after things had fallen apart. She doesn’t know how it was before—Tim, himself, Sasha… they used to share a great camaraderie about the job. Inside jokes, bets, the works. She doesn’t know, Martin reminds himself.

“Not really—I mean, they appreciate it, I know they do, even Jon, though he doesn’t usually act like it—but it’s an easy way for them to show gratitude, y’know? And it keeps things normal. As normal as it can, anyway.” The kettle switches off and Basira fills her mug without saying anything. “Besides, I’m good at it,” Martin tells her, willing her to understand, to hate the shitty parts of the situation a little less. “Remembering orders.” 

That’s the other half of the truth, after all. He lied on his resume to get in here, no qualifications, at least none that were relevant, though his tendency to put up with a lot and keep an open mind has certainly helped. Serving coffee, knowing people’s orders better than they do, well, it’s what he has a knack for—and getting coffee for other people means he gets to use it. He’s useful. No matter what else is going on, how long he’s running from silver worms, dealing with his coworkers’ disregard for their own lives, and the monsters that are real and want them dead—he can at least be useful like this. 

Basira raises an eyebrow at him. “Clearly,” she says dryly. Too late, Martin realizes that he’s offered her the carton of lactose-free milk and a packet of sugar-free sweetener before she’d even asked. He can feel his traitorous cheeks turn pink with embarrassment even as she takes the items. “Thanks.”

Blessing, curse, all that jazz.

“I swear I’m not like, a stalker or anything,” Martin says quickly. “Or using any weird monster superpowers. It’s just that my memory has always been really good for this sort of stuff, milk, sugars, numbers, people—I don’t know. I just, remember. Sorry.” He shuts himself up before he tells her anything more in a bid to get her to believe him.

Basira shakes her head. “I get it. It’s a good skill to have.”

She fixes her tea the way she likes it, the way that Martin knows she likes it, and takes a sip. She looks like she still has something to say, so Martin puts the milk back in the fridge and waits. 

Martin is still figuring out how to interact with her—is she the type where you should prompt, or leave them be? With Jon, it’s best to let him say whatever he needs to in his own time, but he can stand a hint or two or prompting when the silence is long. Other people are much more forthcoming when left entirely to their own devices. Martin, for his part, rarely needs encouragement to share his thoughts. It’s been a problem, more often than not. 

“Well,” he says, picking up Tim’s mug (the one with the blue cat design and chip on the handle), “guess I’d better get back to… delivering coffee and all.” He smiles at her and goes to leave but can feel Basira’s eyes on him all the way to the door. 

Finally, as he’s just about to step out, she calls out, “hey, Martin.”

“Yeah?” He turns halfway.

Her face is unreadable. “You fit in here more than you know,” she says, “what with the all-knowing coffee orders. I thought you were some sort of anomaly—but no. You’re just as weird as the rest of them.”

He finds himself smiling, unsure whether it’s a threat or a compliment. He’ll take it, whatever it is. “Thanks, I think.”

Basira smiles back, friendly. “Get me a tea sometime, too, yeah?”

Martin leaves, but his grin stays.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! you can find me on tumblr at [ everythingsdifferentupsidedown](everythingsdifferentupsidedown.tumblr.com)!
> 
> your friendly local fanfic author lives on tea and comments, so please leave one if you have a minute. I'd love to know what you thought<3


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